


She Can Fly, Too

by wheel_pen



Series: Alice [19]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Naughtiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:11:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark’s parents find out about Alice’s powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Can Fly, Too

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Alice, my original female character, is new in Smallville. There is something special about her, and she and Clark form a relationship.
> 
> 2\. This series starts after the end of the second season—after the destruction of the spaceship and Clark abruptly leaving town.
> 
> 3\. Underage warning: This story may contain human or human-like teenagers, in high school, in sexual situations.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

            There hadn’t really been a chance for Clark and his parents to talk, what with the police and the ambulance and the crowd. But finally the authorities had left to do their paperwork and treat their new patient—straight to the psychiatric ward, that one—and the crowd had gone home to make dinner. Alice had practically been dragged away by her mother; Martha couldn’t blame the woman—who would want their child hanging out with someone who was frequently beset by meteor mutants?

            Clark was sorry to see Alice leave, for multiple reasons—the most pressing of which was that he really didn’t want to have the conversation with his parents that he knew they were anxious to have. Sure enough, Clark’s mother entered the house after giving him a significant look, and his father actually held the door open for him, forcing Clark to go first. Like they wanted to trap him before he could run off.

            Martha made some coffee in the kitchen. Jonathan stood pointedly in the doorway, again blocking a potential exit for Clark. He really had nothing to do but lean on the counter and wait uncomfortably.

            “You alright, son?” Jonathan asked. He always asked, which Clark found frustrating but also somehow nice.

            “Yeah, I’m fine, Dad.”

            “Lucky Alice got rid of that meteor rock in time,” his father continued dryly.

            “Yeah, lucky,” Clark attempted.

            “And just _how_ did she know to get rid of the meteor rock?” Jonathan pressed.

            Clark considered lying, then rejected the idea. Not only would it be, well, _wrong_ , he also wasn’t very good at it. And his parents would be even _more_ angry that he had tried to lie to them. But he still couldn’t think of a suitable reply, so he just opened his mouth and then closed it again and thought a little longer. “Well, um…” That, apparently, was the best he could come up with.

            For Jonathan it was answer enough, however. “Clark,” he chided, dropping tiredly into a chair at the kitchen table. Clark frowned; he hadn’t noticed his father’s fatigue before. “Clark, I can’t believe you told her.”

            “Well, Dad,” Clark protested, “it was kind of inevitable.”

            “And that,” Jonathan pounced, “is _exactly_ why we wanted you to slow down a bit with her, son.” Clark sighed. “Look, we _like_ Alice. But you haven’t really known her that long—“

            “I’ve known her a year,” Clark interrupted indignantly.

            “That’s not really very long, Clark,” Martha pointed out gently, bringing her husband a cup of coffee. “How much do we really know about her and her mother?”

            “Aside from her mother’s preference for Luthors,” Jonathan couldn’t help adding.

            “Dad—“ Clark felt the conversation spinning out of control. Why did his parents always think he had no idea what to do? There were _tons_ of things he could do with his abilities that he knew his parents wouldn’t be proud of—everything from world domination to making a living to just spying on the girls’ locker room. But he _didn’t_ do those things (at least not very often)—he used his abilities, his “gifts” as his parents called them, to help people, save lives… and in the process he often had to push away people that he cared about, keep them in the dark to keep them and others safe. To Clark that seemed like a h—l of a lot of responsibility to give to someone who was currently being lectured to by his parents in the middle of the kitchen as if he were twelve.

            “Honey,” his mother placated, seeing the set of his jaw, “I know you feel very close to Alice. It’s a normal situation for two _young_ people.” Clark raised both eyebrows at her. Very little he did fell into the realm of _normal_ anymore. “But no matter how close you feel to someone, you just can’t go around telling them about your gifts. If you aren’t sure what to do, that’s when we need to discuss it and make a decision as a family.”

            “Mom,” Clark replied with some irritation, “every time we ‘discuss something as a family,’ that’s just code for, ‘Do what we say, Clark, you’re gonna screw it up on your own.’”

            “Clark Kent!” Jonathan said sharply, and Clark dropped his gaze to the floor. As if he were twelve, he thought. “That is absolutely not true. And you telling people about your gifts is hardly a minor situation. It affects _all_ of us, Clark. You should have come to us first.”

            Clark glanced around the kitchen, as if aid were going to come flying out of the appliance garage or the egg basket. When it didn’t, he tried insisting, “It was… really kind of unavoidable. It wasn’t really one of those situations where I could say, ‘Hang on a minute, Alice, I gotta go call my parents and ask them what to do.’” Clark was really trying to not sound sarcastic, because his parents hated that. And he really hoped that his parents didn’t ask him what, exactly, the situation was that prompted his confession.

            “So instead you said, ‘Hey, Alice, I’m an alien’?” Clark didn’t understand why it was okay for his father to be sarcastic when _he_ couldn’t be.

            “Well, no,” Clark admitted. “I was a little more vague.” For a moment Jonathan and Martha looked slightly relieved. “At first.” The relief vanished.

            His mother suddenly seemed exhausted too, the harsh light above the kitchen table showing all the lines Clark normally didn’t notice. She rubbed her eyes with her palms and sighed, a sigh that was like a punch to the stomach for Clark. “Honey, we didn’t want you to tell Pete, but we understood why you thought you had to,” she explained wearily. “And we’ve known Pete and his family since… since before you came here. But you have other friends you’ve known for years, whose parents we know—even our own relatives, for G-d’s sake—who don’t…”

            She trailed off, a hand over her eyes, her red hair forming a curtain across her face as Jonathan reached across the table and squeezed her hand. Clark thought of all the relatives he’d never met, or never met until recently, all because he couldn’t control his abilities well enough as a child. All the family his parents had had to avoid for ten years or more. All because of him. The familiar feelings of guilt, of the disappointment he had caused his parents who had given up so much for him, settled like weights in his stomach.

            “Alice would never tell anyone, Mom,” Clark reassured Martha hurriedly, desperate to take away the expression he couldn’t see on her face.

            “But how do you know that, Clark?” his father asked seriously.

            Clark wanted to answer that question so badly, to tell them what he _knew_ would help them understand, to explain why he knew they could trust Alice. But he just couldn’t. He couldn’t tell them without asking her first. Like he should have asked them first, before he told her about himself, he supposed… but he couldn’t keep running back to his parents _every_ time he had a question. Life just didn’t allow for that.

            “I just…” Clark shook his head. “I just know.” That response was by no means good enough. “Look,” he tried, “Alice has actually known for a while, and she’s never told anyone—“

            Clark knew that was the wrong tactic as soon as he saw the expression on his father’s face. “How long, _exactly_ , Clark?” Jonathan asked dangerously.

            This was one of those times when Clark really wished he were better at lying. At least at fuzzing the truth a bit. But on the other hand, no matter how he answered that question, things were going to go badly. He suddenly found his sneakers fascinating and worthy of study. “About six months.”

            The reaction was immediate. “ _Six months_?” his mother exclaimed with horrified disbelief.

            “You told her after you’d known her only a few _months_?” his father barked.

            Resentment sparked in Clark’s eyes. “Yes,” he answered fiercely, meeting Jonathan’s gaze. “I told her after we’d been dating for about three months. And she’s never told another person.”

            His parents were staring at him as though they’d never seen him before, and Clark could feel the fury building in him. “Clark,” Martha sighed, “why didn’t you at least tell _us_ that Alice knew...”

            “Well I guess when it comes to keeping secrets, I learned from the best.” It didn’t even sound like his voice, that bitter, dark sound filling the warmly-lit kitchen.

            “Clark—“ Jonathan began.

            Clark cut him off. “You have to learn to trust _me_ ,” he said heatedly, glaring at them both. The guilt had been pushed away in favor of anger—at least for the moment. Clark knew the guilt would return later, however, and that only heightened the anger. “You two still look at me and Lana and think about ‘what could’ve been,’” Clark added accusingly, leaning forward. “But it _never_ could have been, because every time she got close, I pushed her away. But that’s not going to happen with Alice. She’s known _everything_ about me for months, and I’ve _never_ regretted it.”

            “But-but has _she_?” Martha ventured hesitantly. “You said Pete sometimes...”

            Clark pulled back a bit. “Well you’ll have to ask her yourself,” he replied shortly. “I assume you want to have a ‘talk’ with her?”

            “Well, I think that would be appropriate, Clark,” his father agreed icily, staring the teenager down.

Martha decided they would probably stay like that all night if she let them, so she stood and walked between them. “Clark,” she sighed, reaching up to put her hand on her son’s tense jaw, “your father and I _do_ trust you. And we _are_ glad that things have worked out for you, with Alice.”

“But _what_ if they _hadn’t_?” Jonathan just had to add. “What if they _still_ don’t? You’re only eighteen, for C----t’s sake...”

“Alice would never tell anyone.” It was only a repetition of what he’d said before, as unsubstantiated as it had been just a few minutes earlier, but this time there was no hesitation, no pleading, in Clark’s voice.

All the confidence in the world, however, couldn’t make Jonathan feel any better about the situation. He stood stiffly, both he and Martha moving slowly towards the stairs as if they were suddenly ten years older. Despite his anger Clark felt impossibly young and childish compared to them.

“I think we’ve all had a pretty long day,” Jonathan decided, effectively ending the conversation. “Your mother could use some rest.”

Always the mother, Martha patted Clark’s arm gently and reminded him, “There’s some leftover chicken in the fridge, if you just… heat it up.” Clark nodded. He didn’t trust his voice to speak.

            They walked out of the kitchen, leaving Clark standing alone by the counter, feeling once again as if he had saved the day and ruined his parents’ lives, all in one moment. You had to have superpowers in order to do that, he decided, or at least to do it with such regularity. Clark sighed and headed outside to find something he could break that no one needed… although some days working out his frustrations only seemed to cause him _more_ guilt.

 

            Clark barely squeaked past Principle Reynolds at the school gate the next morning and made it to English lit with just enough time to dig out his notebook and start copying down Mrs. Granger’s lecture about Nathanial Hawthorne. When he finally had a moment to pause he turned as discreetly as he could and glanced at Alice, who sat over two rows towards the back. She caught him watching her and gave him an encouraging smile, then a warning look, and he quickly turned back around just as Mrs. Granger narrowed her gaze at him. He flashed the older woman his most ingratiating smile and she moved off—but she was keeping an eye on him. A lot of his senior-year teachers had been keeping an eye on him lately, ever since the fire bell incident… Clark was frankly used to being the teachers’ favorite, and he wasn’t sure he liked this new reputation he was getting. But then again, he decided, remembering the conversation with his parents the night before, that really wasn’t his biggest problem at the moment.

            When the bell rang Clark waited by the door for Alice as she gathered up her books. “Hey,” she greeted, taking his hand. The smile he gave her was half-hearted, and she frowned. “Are you okay? From yesterday?”

            “Yeah…” Clark answered slowly as they made their way towards chemistry. He pulled her closer in the crowded hallway; Alice had apparently never learned to dodge people, and since anyone who ran into her would probably bounce off into a wall, Clark tried to keep her out of the traffic flow as much as possible. Of course, her proximity also made it easier to tell her quietly, “My parents want to talk to you sometime.”  
            “About what?” Alice asked quizzically.

            “The rock thing,” he replied vaguely. You never knew what someone might overhear.

            For a moment she was confused, then realization dawned and she looked horrified. “D—n, Clark, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think about it—“

            He squeezed her hand; the people they were walking by had glanced up at her exclamation. “It’s okay,” he shrugged. “It feels—better, getting it out.” Or rather, it _would_ feel better, if things actually _were_ out.

            “It’s not okay,” she insisted, but more quietly, “if I got you in trouble.”

            Clark shook his head. “It’ll be fine,” he assured her as they rounded a corner. “But they want you to come over so we can all talk about it. Discuss it like a family.” He paused. “That last part came out a little more bitter than I meant it to be.”

            Alice smiled and purposefully knocked into him. Unlike with most people, he actually _felt_ the nudge. “So what did they say when you told them about me?” She sounded like she really didn’t want to know, but felt compelled to ask anyway.

            “Mmmm…” Clark began. Alice gave him a dubious look. “I didn’t exactly tell them about you.”

            Alice stopped in the middle of the hallway like a rock—a large rock—and since Clark was tethered to her he stopped as well, in a rather sudden, ungainly manner. She waited until his balance had returned and he had stepped closer to her before hissing, “You didn’t tell them?”

            “No,” Clark assured her. “I didn’t want to say anything without talking to you first.”

            “Oh.” Alice didn’t know how to respond to that. “Wouldn’t it have made things a whole lot easier for you? To tell them?” she finally suggested tentatively.

            Clark sighed. It was too late to be thinking along those lines. “You know what would make things a whole lot easier for me?” he asked rhetorically. “Getting to chemistry on time.” He gave her a grin that was affectionate, but a shadow of its usual burn-the-lights-out brightness.

            Alice smiled up at him, a different, softer kind of smile—the kind that meant she was thinking about something. Plotting something, even. “I guess that would be a good start,” she decided. “Come on, then.”

 

            Martha glanced at the clock for the third time in ten minutes. She knew the buzzer on the oven would go off just when she had set it, but she couldn’t help being a little anxious about her latest batch of muffins. It was a challenge, trying to produce baked goods that met her high standards in the quantities needed by her customers, and she really couldn’t afford to burn another dozen. Of course, burned or not, Clark and Jonathan would still gobble down the “mistakes” like they were trying to fill bottomless pits—

            “Hey, are these rejects?” Clark asked eagerly, gazing hungrily at the too-brown muffins on the counter.

            Martha nearly jumped out of her skin. “Clark!” she admonished, then smiled—a bit tightly—when she saw that Alice was with him. Martha looked back at the clock, which read 3:32. “Didn’t you two _just_ get out of school?”

            Clark glanced at Alice. “We ran,” he shrugged. It never failed that when there was something Clark desperately did _not_ want to talk about, his parents demanded an explanation. But whenever he felt like actually apologizing for something—like some of his sentiments from the night before, perhaps—all his opportunities were frozen out by avoidance. And the scene at the Kent breakfast table that morning had been particularly frosty.

            “Oh,” Martha replied, a bit tightly. “Well, um, did you have a nice day at school today, Alice?”

            “Yes, Mrs. Kent, it was fine.” Alice had never felt awkward talking to Clark’s mom before, and she didn’t like the sensation very much.

            Fortunately his mother’s baked goods trumped any unease Clark himself felt. “Muffins?” he questioned, already reaching towards one.

            “Yes, go ahead,” Martha sighed, checking on her baking batch. “I won’t be selling _those_ to anyone.”

            Clark needed little more invitation and tossed one of the muffins to Alice before taking one for himself. Together they settled down at the kitchen table, napkins carefully laid out to catch the crumbs of their snacks. “These are really good, Mrs. Kent,” Alice commented around a mouthful. “I don’t think they’re too burnt.”

            “Don’t tell her that or she won’t let us eat them,” Clark told her with a grin. Alice nudged him with her elbow, pushing for more space at the table, and he kicked her foot a little, pretending he was just stretching. Martha shook her head, smiled, and went back to checking her muffins.

            It was obvious how much Clark liked Alice, how comfortable he was with her, and Martha belatedly realized that much of that must be because he had confided his secret to her—and she had apparently reacted to it well. Martha thought back to the interactions she had seen between Clark and his other friends—there had been so many, over the years, and yet she was just now comprehending how much more guarded Clark was with them, how carefully he did everything, even in what he said, compared to his behavior with Alice.

            What he’d said about Lana last night had been true, at least partly. Martha had frankly gotten so used to Clark _pining_ over the young brunette, over the years, that she herself had taken a special interest in Lana, watching her grow up, applauding her accomplishments, worrying about whether she was happy. She and Jonathan had even talked about what might happen if Clark told Lana about his abilities... and although it wasn’t exactly what either of them had wished for, it had at one point seemed almost inevitable.

            Over the last few months—since Clark had started seeing Alice—Martha had begun to reassess her opinions about Lana. One had to think about _something_ while doing all that baking, after all. Martha hoped she wasn’t so petty as to think _less_ of Lana just because the girl was interested in a boy other than her son; she certainly hadn’t felt that way when Lana was dating the Fordman boy, God rest his soul. But Clark had just developed so many emotional issues with Lana that had never been resolved, comments and incidents from the past that had never been explained or acknowledged to Lana’s satisfaction.

Sometimes Martha wondered if too much damage had already been caused between the two of them, so much that even the revelation of Clark’s most closely-guarded secrets wouldn’t be able to tip the balance back in his favor. But all she _knew_ was that almost any discussion between Clark and Lana these days was as likely to end tensely as not. Clark didn’t have that kind of history with Alice—but while that might make him _like_ her more, it was partly why Martha _worried_ more.

            “Do I smell muffins?” Jonathan asked, stomping the mud off his boots on the back porch. Martha rolled her eyes. If she had ever allowed her family to participate in a scientific study, it would be immediately clear which of Clark’s behaviors sprang from nurture instead of nature. Of course, given that neither she nor Jonathan could shoot heat beams from their eyes or pick up cars one-handed, the _nature_ part was pretty obvious as well.

            Jonathan helped himself to another well-done baked good and sat down at the table beside Clark. “Hello, Alice,” he began, his usual pleasantries a little forced.

            “Mr. Kent.”

            “School go alright today, kids?”

            Clark and Alice shot each other a look that was pure teenager—pure _oh, geez, old people_. Martha smiled and pulled the carton of milk out of the refrigerator, along with a couple of glasses. “Yeah, it was fine, Dad,” Clark said, in answer to his father. “Mom, could we have the—“

            The milk and glasses were set down in front of him—as if by magic, said the look on his face. “Mothers just know these things,” she teased him, ruffling his hair.

            “No alien superpowers necessary,” Alice commented, and the air in the room seemed to stop dead for a moment.

            Well, that was Alice for you, Clark thought. No beating around the bush. He wished he could offer her some support, but he had no idea what to say at this point either. All he could do was send her a glance across the table as his father cleared his throat.

            “Well, Alice,” Jonathan began, having been dragged into the subject a little sooner than he had intended, “I guess Clark told you why we wanted you to come over.”

            “Yes, he did,” she answered politely, watching Jonathan intently with those blue, blue eyes.

            She had the same kind of unnerving stare Clark got sometimes, and Jonathan glanced at his wife, hoping she might say something. Martha, however, was turned around checking the clock again, so Jonathan pressed on. “Well, Alice, I know you and Clark have become… close since you and your mom moved here a year ago…” Alice noticed he emphasized the relatively short amount of time she had lived in Smallville. “And I guess you know that Clark has some pretty special gifts that let him do things other people just can’t do.” Alice’s gaze flickered down to the table just as Clark looked up at her. He really hated being talked about as if he weren’t there.

            “Yes, I do,” Alice confirmed. “I know a lot about them.”

            “Well, if Clark has told you so much about what he can do”—and Jonathan’s tone held just a tinge of disapproval that both teenagers immediately picked up on—“I hope he’s also told you about the trouble his gifts can cause, when knowledge of them falls into the wrong hands.”

            “Yes, he has.”

            “Then surely you understand why it’s so important that as few people as possible find out about Clark,” Martha told the girl earnestly, taking one of Alice’s hands. Jonathan sat back a bit, glad she had finally jumped in. Now at least Alice was staring at someone _else_ for a change. “A comment made too loudly, or without thinking, or without being sure there’s no one else around… Even encouraging him to use his abilities when it isn’t absolutely necessary, when you’re in a public place, or bringing him into a situation where his abilities might become apparent…”

            Clark sighed loudly and slouched in his chair, and both his parents gave him warning looks. G-d, could they make him sound like an irresponsible five-year-old with no control over himself _any_ more than they were currently doing?

            “I understand,” Alice assured her, and Clark knew she meant it—she really did—but his parents weren’t convinced by the simple statement.

            “Look, Alice,” Jonathan switched off from his wife, “we’ve always raised Clark to use his gifts the same way someone else might use their greater intelligence or their way with people or anything like that—for good, to help people, never to hurt anyone or to cut corners.” Jonathan wasn’t even sure the girl blinked when she looked at him. That and the vertigo-inducing zebra stripe print on her shirt were really starting to freak him out. “This kind of… knowledge about Clark, it goes beyond any kind of… problems the two of you might have, beyond your whole relationship. If you had an argument, if you were angry at him, even if you broke up, you could never tell anyone, no matter how much you cared about that person.” Here Clark was on the receiving end of another look from his father.

            “You can’t imagine the scenarios that have kept Jonathan and I up at night over the years,” Martha continued, looking past Alice, past the kitchen. “Not just the press camped outside our door, our friends and neighbors and relatives turning away from us, but the government, the military, the scientists—the people who would want to study Clark and use him and exploit him and who might not care about how they coerced him into agreeing.” Clark swallowed hard. He hated hearing his parents talk like this, hating knowing that they thought like this. If he thought about these things too much himself he would never get out of bed in the morning. Martha turned her gaze back on Alice fiercely. “If anyone were to find out about Clark, it wouldn’t just be him that suffered, it could be so many other innocent people. Do you understand that, Alice?”

            “It’s a huge responsibility,” Jonathan added, voice steely. “It can’t be taken lightly.”

            “I understand,” Alice repeated, and she sounded sincere. But it seemed like Jonathan and Martha were waiting for a five-paragraph essay on the many ways in which Alice understood, some proof that she too had lain awake pondering the full meaning of her boyfriend’s gifts beyond the convenience of having someone to open stuck mayonnaise jars, and the silence ticked out several seconds past the comfort limit.

            The room was so tense that when the stove buzzer went off everyone jumped. “Sorry, that’s my muffins,” Martha told them, hurriedly pushing her chair back and heading for the stove. She rushed to end the ear-ringing tone and opened the stove door to find her creations the exact right shade of golden—but when she scooped one muffin pan out with her be-mitted hand, she realized she had forgotten to put a dishtowel on the counter to set the heated pan on. “Clark, could you—“ she began absently. Couldn’t have the hot metal ruining her countertop finish.

            There was a familiar whoosh beside her and then bare hands reached out to take the pan from her, as well as the one still in the oven. Martha turned away to grab a thick cloth and set it on the counter near the sink—and watched the pans of fresh-baked muffins placed carefully on it by pale, slender fingers ending in black nail polish. Her head snapped up, shocked and confused brown eyes meeting Alice’s serious blue ones. Then Alice was gone, little more than a dark blur for the milliseconds it took her to resume her seat at the table.

            Jonathan was gaping at her as Martha staggered back to the fourth chair. For a moment they did nothing but stare at Alice, then back to each other, then back to Alice, who toyed with her leftover muffin self-consciously. Clark took a swig of milk to conceal the smile he wore that was, in all fairness, extremely smug.

            “I would never tell anyone about Clark’s abilities,” Alice assured them slowly, “just like I know he would never tell anyone about mine.”

            “Wha-wha-what abilities?” Martha finally gasped out. Living in Smallville they had certainly seen some people who fell outside the norm, people besides Clark that is—those who could shapeshift into other people, who froze people with a touch, who could control other people’s minds with some meteor-given power. However, most of them had snapped under the weight of their abilities and turned into homicidal maniacs whom Clark had to protect the town from… they generally didn’t sit quietly across the table pushing a dried blueberry around on a napkin.

            “Well,” Alice began quietly, quietly enough that Jonathan and Martha had to lean forward to hear her better, “I can move really fast… and I’m pretty strong… and I seem to be pretty much invulnerable…”

            “Do you—have the heat vision, like Clark does?” Jonathan asked carefully. It seemed a ridiculous question but it was the only thing he could think of.

            Alice shook her head, jet-black curls dancing around her face. “But I can sort of… set things on fire by… thinking about it.” She added dolefully, “Sorry about your barn, by the way. That was me. But Clark didn’t know about it then.”

            She looked so young sitting across the table, confessing her secret to the Kents as if admitting to sins in her past, her shoulders hunched in protectively. Clark, on the other hand, had been covering his pleased smirk for so long he had run out of milk, and he finally set the glass down with a thunk that drew everyone’s attention. “She can fly, too,” he revealed casually.

            “F-fly?” Martha repeated. Her mind had yet to fully process this information.

            “Well, it’s really more like floating,” Alice responded, giving Clark a smile that suggested they had had this discussion before. “So, Mrs. Kent, Mr. Kent,” the girl continued, taking a deep breath and meeting their gazes squarely, “I know exactly what it means to live with a secret every day that you just have to keep, no matter what. My mom and my grandma have made so many sacrifices, because of me and what I can do, and--” She broke off. “Just—please don’t be mad at Clark for telling me, because we kind of found out at the same time—and he would never have told me anything if he didn’t know that I could be trusted.”

            For a long moment there was silence. Then Jonathan and Martha leaned back in their chairs in unison, as if they had had a silent conversation and come to the same conclusions. “Do you—do you think this has anything to do with the meteors?” Jonathan asked hesitantly.

            Again Alice shook her head. “I don’t see how it could. I’ve just always been able to do… things, ever since my mom adopted me when I was a baby. That was before the meteor shower. And it was in Gotham…”

            Martha had a more practical concern. “Did you tell your mother about Clark?” She tried not to sound too anxious—after all, Meg Wilson must have gone through all the same emotions and fears Martha had over the years. And she had, it seemed, never exploited the girl’s abilities or used them for her own gain.

            “No,” said Alice resolutely. “And I won’t, unless it’s unavoidable.” She smiled a little ruefully. “She and my grandma just think Clark is a nice boy who is constantly in danger of being crushed or incinerated or suffocated by me.”

            Jonathan and Martha couldn’t meet their son’s eyes across the table—how many times had they, however briefly, had the same worry about Alice in Clark’s company?

            “Well,” Jonathan finally said after a minute. “I’m glad we had this talk, Alice. I’m glad we… understand each other better.” She smiled and nodded, relieved that the conversation seemed to be ending. Jonathan stood. “I’ve got some chores I have to get to before dinner, so…”

            “Yeah,” Clark chimed in. “You want to work on those lit essays?” he asked Alice.

            “Sure,” she agreed, finishing her milk. “I need to get going on mine if it’s going to get finished on time. Hawthorne puts me to sleep, even with speed-reading.”

            Jonathan pulled his jacket back on and went out to check the stock, Martha set about fixing dinner and cleaning up her baking mess, and Clark and Alice went up to the loft to “do homework” and, probably, whatever they had _really_ been doing when she accidentally set the barn on fire… Martha sighed as she thought that would be the next Talk she dreaded having with Clark, the Safe and Proper Conduct of a Young Man… Maybe she could get his father to take that one.


End file.
